Harvester
by LeiaBlaze
Summary: Bodies have started showing up in Gotham, bodies missing organs and limbs. The police think it's a serial killer or cult, but Batman has a different ideas. Case fic.
1. Chapter 1

It was all bullshit of course. Bruce knew from the moment he let the journalist in that he was going to put on his best smiling face and pretend to be a rich socialite who enjoyed talking about his feelings with people. He found it difficult to speak with his own allies in casual conversation, even when he wasn't putting on a persona as obnoxious as Bruce Wayne: rich man; it took nearly a year to truly open up to Dick, and Stephanie had still yet to see him truly _vulnerable_. Talking to someone outside of his closely knit group of warriors left him drained from the act. Best to end this quickly and get back to more important matters.

The journalist was late, because of course he was. Bruce had only one interview that went according to schedule, the one with Mrs. Lane at the Planet. And that was because she wanted to get the obvious fluff piece over with as quickly as possible. He'd done his research on the one coming today, from _The Gotham Star_. The _Star_ was the _Gazette_ 's annoying cousin, more focused on celebrity gossip and celebrities than on any primary concerns. Of course, this being Gotham, it was less about the rich and famous than the rogue and dangerous.

 _The Gotham Sta_ r was the local newspaper with the most nationwide sales. Sometimes, Bruce felt that rest of the world was stranger than Gotham.

There was a knock on the door. Bruce didn't need to go open it; he trusted Alfred to do it. _Plus,_ he thought, annoyed that he even had to do this, _what kind of rich socialite greets his own guests?_ He picked up one of the many pointless books in his sitting room; nobody ever read these, they were for looking nice. Bruce didn't even think Tim touched a single thing in here; he was always in the library or the cave.

A man walked in, dressed mostly nice except for the tie, which was a size too small. He had a large broad nose and brows incredibly close to his wide eyes. He reached out a hand, a smile almost as nicely faked as Bruce's growing just a bit wider. "Hi there, Alexander Knox, Gotham Star. It's an honor to meet you Mr. Wayne."

Bruce put down the book and stood up, taking Alexander's hand in a firm but loving handshake. "Bruce Wayne, professional interviewee. Can Alfred get you anything? Wine, scotch, cognac? Or one of the craft breweries I keep having to convince Kate Kane to stop buying?" Bruce let himself giggle a bit. His cousin in truth had only bought one, a local brewery that ended up being run by a homophobe. Bruce didn't laugh that often, but that bit of ironic punishment always got to him.

Alex declined the drink, instead electing to sit himself down on the chair opposite of Bruce. _Further away, trying to distance himself from his subject. Probably not looking for anything major, keep it impersonal._ "I think it's best if we get into the juicy bits right away," Alex said, leaning forward. _Trying to humor me, or intimidate me. Probably says that to most subjects._ Bruce leaned in forward to match, a cheeky smile on his face.

Alex reached into his suit's pocket and pulled out a digital recorder. _Newer reporter, probably a more recent journalism school graduate._ "I'm going to start with a bit of a test. Psych thing. Word association. You know it?"

Bruce Wayne was given damn near every type of psych test after that night at the Camille Sly theater. He'd made sure that Leslie Thompkins gave him another round of them once a year, even if she always said that no sane person dressed up like he did.

"Hit me with it, Alex," Bruce giggled, crossing his legs.

"Pearls."

 _A television, another sleepless night. He didn't know why he watched these awful TV movies, they never got it right. Always the wrong order; his father was shot first, then mom. She was wearing pearls that night, but it wasn't what the man wanted; was probably going for her wallet or a ransom or something. The pearls didn't break. They never bounced in slow motion. Bruce would turn the TV off afterwards; he reminded himself why he fought the crusade every night._

"Susan." It was the first name that came to mind, a model he had sex with in the back of a car. A random name, a meaningless act.

"Ooh, that's a good name. She still with you?"

"Not really." Bruce pretended to look wistful, glancing up at the ceiling. "She went back to Metropolis the night after the party. Ah, well, fun while it lasted."

"Okay," Alex muttered, "Scars."

 _It had been three days. Dick must have been worried. Talia had kept him here, right next to the Pit, a reminder that even death itself wouldn't be an escape. He felt the whip at his back again, the pain barely registering anymore. It hurt at first, and at one point he even yelled into his gag. But the pain faded, even as the scars would remain._

"Kinky," Bruce said with a wink. That gave Alex a bit of a laugh.

"Alright then, how about Cat?"

 _Selina. She stood there on the opposite rooftop, facing him, a mischievous smile on her face. When he lept to her roof, she backflipped, onto the next one, starting a quick run away. She always did this when she had a lead, made him work for it. Batman should have felt annoyed, pissed that someone with vital information was_ _ **playing**_ _at a time like this. But with Selina, it was different. It made the chase, the hunt, almost fun._

"Pussy," Bruce replied, completely deadpan. Alex started laughing, a large belly laugh that made him drop the recorder. "I'm glad you didn't ask for some wine. I bought this rug from a stall in India. Handwoven, the woman said."

It took Alexander a minute to recover, before he picked up the recorder. "Wow," he said, wiping his eye a bit, "Never expected you to be so… forward."

"With what? You watched Tweety bird when you were five, right?" Bruce replied, putting on a Cheshire grin to show that he knew exactly what Alex was talking about.

"Right right. One more before we get to the _real_ interview. Family."

 _It was the first time the whole group was gathered here like this in a long time. Steph and Cass were furiously signing under the table, but Bruce could guess exactly what they were talking about. Duke and Tim were having a furious debate over the latest edition of that fantasy game they loved, but he didn't feel they needed interference. Besides, Alfred was good at measuring when something was too heated. Damian was giving Ace scraps of brisket under the table, something that Bruce would have to talk to him about. Dick and Barbra were giggling about something Dick had said. Harper was trying her best to look bored, but anyone could see the smile on her lips. And right next to her, Bette by her side, was Kate. It was her idea to gather like this, as a family. She even offered to cook much of the food herself, and even Damian admitted she made a fine kugel._

 _Bruce stood up, class of apple cider in hand. He felt his heart swell, and for the first time, he didn't feel like his happiness was an act. "A toast," he said, with joy in his voice, "to the protectors of Gotham and beyond!"_

"Joy," Bruce said, just barely loud enough for Alex and his recorder to hear. It wasn't a fake answer like the ones before it, and his smile had faded to one that rested comfortably. Alex probably couldn't tell the difference between a fake and real one, at least when it came to Bruce Wayne.

"Thank you." Alex nodded, and with a quick gesture indicated that this part was over. "Quite, uh, revealing, Brucey. Can I call you Brucey? Ah, never mind. Time to get to the real interview…"

The whole thing was standard for Bruce Wayne at this point. He gave non-committal but progressive views on political issues, danced around subjects of his personal life, made vague but dirty comments when it came to his sexual attitudes. Just enough for a piece, but not enough to reveal anything important. Whenever the question of his parents and their murder came up, he gave the same thing he always did, the exact phrase: "I spent many years in therapy, and went to a bunch of different schools abroad. I only came back to Gotham when I could face myself again."

Alex clicked his recorder, turning it off. "Great talking with you, Brucey," he said, standing up. Bruce stood as well, taking his hand for another shake.

"It was fun," Bruce replied, making sure to walk Alex to the door. When it shut, his smile dropped to his usual, neutral face. Lord, talking like that was _exhausting_. And wasted so much time. He was sure that, in the time he spent with Knox, he could have solved a murder. No matter, it was time to get to work. He discarded his jacket, tossing it in Alfred's general direction. The butler caught it, as always. Bruce walked down a hallway, the history of the Wayne family surrounding him. Portraits of every Patriarch and Matriarch stretching back to the landing of the Colonists stared down at him, till he reached the portrait with his mother, Martha Kane. Underneath was vent, which he took off effortlessly. A quick reach around the corner of the vent revealed a switch. He flipped it, and the portrait across from Martha, her husband Thomas Wayne, slid up with the wall, revealing a staircase that lead into the dark.

Bruce had walked this path many times, and every time it gave him slight goosebumps. It felt good to take off the mask, to look in and find his home. The Cave.

Time to get to work.


	2. Chapter 2

The cave was dry and cool, intentionally of course. With so much open parts and machinery, Bruce didn't want the normal dampness of a typical limestone cave to interfere or cause rust. From his vantage point at the top of the stairs, he could see the entirety of the cave; the main central area, a large square with training equipment and the central computer jutting out from the wall, lead off to a side area where he kept most of his Batsuits. Opposite that was a table with some holographic technology, top of the line. Kate's idea, said it was better to plan when they had a 3d environment. Around the end of cave was a selection of vehicles, made with parts from about a dozen manufacturers. They ranged from sleek cars to bulky, unwieldy riot vehicles. Each colored black and with small fins or his own stylized logo. All of them with purpose, designed as tools.

Bruce made his way down the spiral staircase, slowly, taking in the sights and sounds. Back in the old days, when he operated solo and was absolutely miserable, the cave was silent, it's size making him feel slightly unnerved, on edge. Now, it usually had at least one of his apprentices, former or current, occupying it. It was the middle of the day, so most were at their day jobs (or school, in Damian's case). Today, it was Tim Drake, codenamed Red Robin, busy on the main computer. Probably multitasking with some computer game that he somehow managed to install and a case of his. It came across Bruce's mind to maybe help out with either (He was shockingly good at that Doom game) but he dashed the thought. Tim needed to fight his own battle.

Bruce's battle, however involved kicking Tim off the computer.

"Move," he said, his real voice coming through. Stephanie once said that he constantly sounded like a parent who was about to fight the opposing team's coach: A deep, booming whisper. Bruce never understood what that meant, but it was good for getting people to listen to orders. The fact that he usually snuck up on them worked pretty well too. Bruce never let it show, but he always enjoyed it when he saw someone jump. Tim practically falling out of the chair was no exception. By the time the kid turned around, the quiet smirk on Bruce's face had already faded.

"Nice to see you to," Tim mumbled, though he was smiling. _Mixed signals, have to keep an eye on that._ Bruce sat down in the spinning chair, quickly exiting some weird thing with horses.

"Anything new to report?" Bruce asked, pulling up the transcripts of police chatter. It seemed to mostly be a quiet day. There was the usual things: an apparent drug deal on the corner of Cobblepot and Solomon ( _Derek Styles; good kid caught up in a bad neighborhood. Go there some time tonight with Duke, talk to him about the future, get him into a good school_ ), a member of the Penguin's crew found dead ( _Two bullet holes, probably Harvey_ ) and a kidnapping from Gotham University was reported this morning ( _Second time this month_ , _work with Stephanie on that_ ).

"Nothing really," Tim said, doing a slight stretch to wake his body up. "Not much. Damian didn't cheat on his math test, and Barbara is directing the team she runs on an op in Central. How was the interview?"

"Boring. Generic. Whatever other words can be used to describe utter wastes of time."

"Shame," Tim said with an impish smile, bending down to touch his toes, "Was hoping he'd grill you into exposing yourself."  
"Hah," Bruce shot back, the monotone completely intentional. A few more keyboard strokes and he had a map of Gotham up. All active police cars were displayed in blue, with some turning red when they spotted something. About 10% of cars were red now, about average for this city. Crime scenes, at least active ones, were in green, and most were scattered across the city outskirts.

One did interest him, though, mostly due to the disproportionate number of police cars to it. A body found on the river, spotted by a civilian. A quick tap on the screen brought up details; five cars, one body found. Must be something notable. Another tap on the screen brought up the radio chatter related to it reactions from various cops as sorted by time.

" _Citizen reported body found in river; white, gender not known. Going in to investigate."_ Most of it was cut out, right up till the cop found the body. " _Central, this is T-39… Oh God. What kind of monster… shit…"_ followed by the sound of what Bruce presumed was vomiting.

That got his attention. Bruce kicked the floor, sending the chair he was in wheeling over to the holograph table. He spun, putting his feet down to come to a sudden stop. Tim was clapping.

"Computer," Bruce said, "display the Gotham River, East Side. Then, display all reported crimes within the past 24 hours."

Turns out, there was quite a bit of crime on the riverfront; Bruce thought that maybe it was a good idea to change out the patrols, maybe get one of Barbara's team into the area. But that was for another time. "Reduce to incident: body found." That narrowed it down to exactly one entry; a body, later found out to be a white male, was found on the riverbank, right by the corner store where Dick bought a chocolate bar the other day. Found by a Hugo Juarez, a local from down the street. A quick stroke on the area, tapping on the part where the body was found, brought up a 3d holograph of the corpse, thankfully it had been taken to the morgue already and-

Bruce nearly fell back in his seat. No wonder the cop puked.

The corpse was mutilated, so much so that it looked like a good chunk of it was simply _gone._ The stomach was open, a flap opened to show that many organs were missing. The stomach and large intestines were cut out, and the area it left was so clean that Bruce could see the spine. A reluctant zoom in showed some sort of small blade had nicked the spine repeatedly. He'd have to run a database to see what type of knife, but it was mostly precise otherwise; very clean cuts, especially around the skin. Further up, another incision was made, this one around the heart. The rips were removed, causing much of the skin to simply sag. The flaps showed that the heart was also gone, cut out the same way. Very little of the surrounding veins were frayed, they all were cut cleanly.

What got to Bruce, the one he couldn't figure out, were the eyes. They were gone, simply missing. Water had filled the eyes, washing out most of the blood and exposing the brain matter underneath. The eyes, according to the coroner, were simply scooped out, removed for no real reason. Bruce had fought cults before, that's what made the heart's removal not as hard hitting. But why the eyes? Not many demon's cared for eyes; in fact, according to a conversation he had with Kate once, demon's preferred eyes to remain in there, in case they could possess the corpse. Removing it made no sense in any real context, unless it was a serial killer's fetish.

Bruce's mind changed track quickly. "Display all bodies with organs removed, found in the past few months." A quick list popped up, each with their coresponding location. Many of these were already solved, many without help. "Narrow down the entries to similarities to the pulled up case." That did it. Two other cases, similar to this one. The other two were found in the ocean, by the mouth of the bay. _Common dumping ground must be the river then. Definitely going to have to rearrange the duty roster._ A quick look at the corpse records indicated that they had very similar mutilations; missing organs, mostly vital ones. These two included livers, and were from two younger women.

"Grizzly," a voice behind him spoke. Bruce jumped up from his chiar, ready to strike, only to see Tim behind him. The kid was short, a messy mop of jet black hair parted to show his still youthful eyes. His face had gone pale, probably from looking over Bruce's shoulder. Still, he had seen stuff like this before, far too much of it for a kid his age.

Bruce waved his hand and deactivated the hologram. "Good job on your stealth. Remember to do it on people who aren't on your side." He rubbed his eyes, lost in thought. "You must have seen it all. Any thoughts on it?"

"Besides the fact that we have no real leads? No idea. The three corpses are way too similar to be coincidence-"  
"No Hebrew word for that," Bruce said, quoting his cousin. It was a good one.

"Yeah, and the fact that they were all dumped around the same area says that the killer must live there. That, and the similar incisions. And…" Tim trailed off.

"What is it?"  
"How did they die?"

Bruce's thought's stopped in their tracks. It was such an obvious question he couldn't consider it at first. They had to be knocked out or else the struggling and thrashing would show; you don't make such clean incisions on moving bodies. But there were no real signs of any chemical in the cadavers. So of course they died by having their organs removed. But how to keep them quiet?

Much of the blood of the cadavers were removed, probably after surgery, so it was hard to get a reading on them. But a quick look at the blood content told Bruce that something was off. The blood sugar was way too high. Impossibly high, in fact. At least for a person planning on staying awake.

"Robin," Bruce said, his voice shifting down an octave. Tim jumped to attention, his code name signaling that it was time to drop what he was doing and _move._ "Cancel your patrol tonight. We need to do this out in the field."

Time to get to work.


	3. Chapter 3

It was the classic scenario in the superhero handbook. Man with a gun holds up a couple of people in an alleyway. It was right up there, in Red Robin's mind, with giant monsters and extra-dimensional conquerors, though he only had to deal with those two on his trips to Metropolis. In this case, it was a man in a ski cap and sunglasses. _At Night._ It took all of Tim's energy not to start humming. The two victims were two men, pretty tough looking as well, with biceps larger than both of Tim's arms laid on top of each other; not that it would matter against a pistol from 6 feet away. For a quick second, Tim thought about calling it an incident of gang violence, and would have to incapacitate everyone at the scene, but a cursory glimpse of the clothing said otherwise; no noticeable colors for any of the ones local to this area.

"Strategy?" Batman growled behind him. His voice was unique and strange, something that he had never been able to truly figure out. It was more than a gravely deepening of his vocal chords, Dick and Stephanie had once tried to replicate it and all it led to was the downing of throat lozenges.

"I'm thinking standard operation," Tim said, watching one of the two buff men "Drop behind and a swift strike to the back; make sure the two victims won't turn on me afterwards."

"Confirmed. I'll wait here." _And watch,_ Tim thought, as he hopped onto a rooftop of an adjacent building. He could see the robber's back now, but now was no time to throw caution to the wind; he still had to land. A quick glance showed that one of the boys was now looking directly at him, a sense of fearful excitement in his eyes. It brought a smile to Tim's face; he was a damn _superhero,_ saving lives!

It was a quick drop down; the roof was only about two stories tall. His leap down was rather simple; his cape, though smaller than Batman's, was also easier to handle, especially when it came to gliding and landings. He landed on his tiptoes silently and crouched. There was an audible gasp from the other victim who hadn't noticed him yet.

The robber in front of him yelled "Shut it!" and waved it. _Unstable, have to act fast._ Red Robin swiftly grabbed the man in a facelock, a quick squeeze made him drop the gun. And as a final step, Tim threw his feet up and curled his back slightly, landing on his back while the crook landed on his head. It was an instant knockout; the man was out like a light. And the only consequences was that Tim's back was gonna be sore as balls in the morning. _Remember to call Cass,_ he thought, kicking up to his feet, _she's better at this than I am._

It grew silent quickly; the two victims were stunned, staring at the 5'6 17 year old who was skinnier than Scarecrow taking people down in one move. "You guys tourists?" Tim asked, sticking out a hand. It was quickly taken, cautiously. The other man was shaking his head absently. Trauma, probably. "It's been fun..." Tim said, a reassuring smile on his face. No pat on the shoulder; might set these guys off. "But I need to get going. More people to save. See ya!"

One quick grapple and he was off; rejoining Batman on the roof. "You were good up until the takedown," he growled, with the tone of a patient football coach, "Risky move. You'll regret those high impact takedowns tomorrow."

"Thanks." Tim gave his mentor a quick elbow jab before rushing off ahead. Detour over, time to do what the Dynamic Duo always set off to do: solve a mystery.

* * *

A few hours earlier, Tim was sitting in a chair around the hologram, in uniform, across from Bruce. Bruce had everything ready except the cowl, which was pulled back, hanging at the back of his neck.

"I think I found a lead. We're dealing with a person with basic medical knowledge."  
"Basic?" Tim asked, cocking his head left.

"Yes." Basic, and to the point. Just like always.

Bruce flicked his finger, displaying a hologram of one of the bodies. Tim winced. Even after staring at it for minutes on end, he still wasn't used to looking at this level of mutilation. It was almost as bad as the one time he saw a crime scene "piece" by Zsasz. It was the eyes that did them; hollow and empty sockets that nevertheless managed to bore into his sole. Bruce's mouth twitched. That was a bad sign.

"I examined all the bodies. Not all of them had the exact same injuries. One had a liver intact, and their lungs. Both heavily damaged."

"Well yeah, of course they're damaged," Tim said, knowing that he was being lead on. "They were floating in salt water. They'd take some deterioration-"

"Yes, but not we're thinking of different types of damage. We need to look at the lungs left behind." Bruce touched the area where the lungs were and opened his fingers, zooming in the hologram. What Bruce was talking about became clear: There was a lot of black in the lungs, far more than what was normal, even for Gotham. A quick glance at the graph next to them detailing the composition revealed even more: Heavy amounts of tar were at the bottom. Even an extended stay in the ocean couldn't destroy that. In addition, many of the alveoli were blackened and dying.

"Heavy smoker," Tim whispered. It was obvious, stared him right in the face. "So the killer didn't take the organs because they were unhealthy? Would that mean-"

" _Organ traffickers._ " Bruce practically hissed the words.

Tim shuddered for a second. His mind wandered, just for a second, to cold operating rooms and the burning smell of antiseptic, a whirring saw and white masks. Tim hated hospitals, and only barely trusted doctors; his first endocrinologist was a nasty gatekeeper, and kept him off hormones for months.

"Tim, pay attention." Bruce's voice shocked him back into reality. Tim gripped the handrail around the hologram table a bit tighter, letting the miniscule amount of pain keep him focused on the matter at hand. "We can probably guess that these aren't done live; there aren't many bruises. I did find a large amount of insulin in the bloodstream, and slight abrasions around the neck and nose." Bruce moved the zoomed in area away from the lungs and up towards the head, giving a them both a look at the empty sockets that, at this point, almost seemed malevolent. The gaping mouth didn't help either; it looked like a whoever this was had just stopped screaming right before she died.

"Not only that," Bruce continued, "keeping the same slightly angry monotone he had when in his Batman Mode, "it's identical on the other two corpses." A swipe brought up all three eyeless faces; Tim felt sick to his stomach. After this, he'd need about a dozen showers. "My hypothesis for the method of knockout is a chloroform to take them down, then get them safe and further induce insulin shock before 'surgery'.

"So he's kidnapping people off the street, checking them out at random? Do we have ID's on any of them?"

"Yes. Gotham PD just confirmed that the woman's name is Carly Grace; senior at Gotham University."

"So what's the gameplay for tonight, then?"

Bruce moved his hands together in a silent clap, shutting down the holographic interface. "Simple, Red Robin. We get to work."

* * *

Later that night, after the pit stop to save the couple in the alleyway, Red Robin and Batman dashed across the rooftops of Gotham. Bruce made sure to always grapple to the next roof, while Tim, on occasions when he felt like being dangerous, simply leapt for it, grabbing the ledge and skidding on before continuing. His pants were made of a very tough rubber; not enough to prevent a bullet, but good enough to not destroy his leg. On one occasion, when the next rooftop was lower, he tried to do a front flip and keep running, just like he saw Dick do once. It didn't work, though he made it to the other roof; landing on his knees was not exactly the desired result to say the least. Bruce stopped for a moment when he heard the thud and turned around; the mask kept his eyes neutral but Tim knew the look of worry from his lips. Drake gave a quick thumbs up and rolled onto his feet, a quick stretch revealing nothing wrong. It would just be another body part hurting in the morning.

The run continued North East, right up to the river. West Side was a good two thirds of the city, with most of the residential and commercial districts in the center. Most realtors credited it to the economic growth sustained from the further interests of Wayne Enterprises and the replacement of older industrial areas with small businesses and home areas, One particular part, the northern Burnside neighborhood, was practically flourishing. None of it was really what could really be called a "good area" of town, it was Gotham after all. It just meant that instead of getting mugged by the abandoned factory, someone got mugged outside the bar.

East Side was a whole other last third of the city faced a large, mined out mountain. Many of the buildings were leftovers from the 1800's. _The Gotham Stars_ last "editorial" claimed that the section of town was a "blight, disgrace upon Gotham's shining face, a scar on her shapely breast." But it didn't matter to Tim; to him and a few others, it was the most Gotham-y part of Gotham they knew. Much of the city's famous gothic architecture had been lost, bulldozed by companies such as Lex-Corp to make way for giant glass boxes with logos on them. East Side, on the other hand, had very little land value, and most realtors refused to touch it. Of course, that meant many of the abandoned mines and warehouses were home to the various supercriminals that made the city infamous, but it was worth it just to see many of the gargoyles.

"Red Robin," Bruce said curtly, skidding to a stop at the last building. "How do you want to do this?" he said curtly, scanning the horizon. Even if Tim had done as close to graduated to what he sometime called "Batman's School for Wayward Asskickers" as possible, Bruce still liked to test him in small ways. This was one of them. Tim knew the standard operating procedure, and that if he gave a non-traditional answer, he had better be able to back it up. No need to risk brainpower here though, so he knew what to do.  
"Sandwhich it, Batman. I'll head to the body's location on East Side, while you try to locate the dumping location. We'll have to get the river's speed from the time and analyze the rate of decay, but otherwise, it'll be a bit easy to figure out an estimate. You stay on West Side for now?"  
"Affirmative. I'm off."  
And with that, Batman grappled to the rooftop two stories higher, and left Tim alone. They'd still have radio contact, but for now, it was two solo efforts. While working with Bruce was always a highlight to Tim, it sometimes felt nice to have the pressure off him. He took a few seconds to recharge, doing quick stretches and chugging some bottled water. And then, looking down from the lip of the building, he jumped, going into a diving pose right down towards the concrete. About halfway down, he opened up his wings and turned up, and suddenly Tim Drake, the Red Robin, was _flying._

The flight abilities of the Red Robin suit were a bit of a misnomer. It was more of a very extended glide, one that could take him for miles out of a good dive. For a few seconds Tim let himself just be in the area above the Gotham river, taking a look behind him at Gotham. Even if he wasn't a native Gothamite, he always loved this city. It was the lights, really; despite the very grey and brick-red buildings that a large part of Gotham was made of, the lights always seemed to be straight from the Vegas nightlife. Tacky, yes, but it was so great to see a gargoyle lit up with a pink on one side from the strip club and a green from the Irish pub on the other, or the incredibly gaudy chemical spill that was the Ace building. It fit the city rather well; despite it's dark and brooding nature, it could still put on a happy face.

Calculating the distance in his head would show that Tim didn't have enough airtime to make it cross the river. That was fine; there was always a ferry boat on the river, close to the bridge. A quick course correction put him on a course right to her, an antique little steamer that puffed out little tufts of white steam. Tim grappled right to the ferry to keep up the distance, sticking his feet out to make sure he didn't faceplant into her. From there it was a quick scale up. Tim flipped himself over the railing fancily and stood up… in front of about 10 people. All staring at the barely-adult vigilante who just flipped up in front of them. Awkward.

"So, uh," Red Robin said in his professional, vigilante voice, "how's your night going? Find any supervillains yet?"

The civilians, it turned out, were mostly civil. Tim was always awkward talking to people in general; in costume, it was even worse. He had an image of the Batfamily to keep up, and it took so much of his strength to not drop a Star Trek joke when a very tired looking man with a loose tie described something as "logical." Eventually, the boat ride ended, and he waved goodbye to the citizens of Gotham before grappling up to an apartment building with a laundromat on the first floor. He was still about a mile out to the crime scene. The night was going to be a long one.

 _Time to get to work._


End file.
